


Closer (to the edge)

by certainlyAmbiguous



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Edging, M/M, Orgasm Control, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-18
Updated: 2012-04-18
Packaged: 2017-11-03 21:42:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/certainlyAmbiguous/pseuds/certainlyAmbiguous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave puts his theoretical knowledge of edging into practice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closer (to the edge)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Homestuck kinkmeme.

Your name is TAVROS NITRAM, and you cannot be trusted.  
  
At least, this is what Dave Strider seems to think.  
  
You grit your teeth, baring them as you tug half-heartedly against your bonds, but your face is pleading. He’s right, you had promised to listen to him, you promised, but when he told you to stop moving, you thought you were too close, so close, almost, you could just-  
  
And now your bulge is straining against the air as you lift your hips. You wish he would go on, wrap that oddly soft hand around you again, anything really, but he only stares down at you from behind his shades, carefully pressing your legs apart. You make attempts at forming words, but you can only whimper quietly.  
  
“Relax,” you hear, and you think you can see the tiniest flicker of a smile as he says it.  
  
You try.  
  
“I’m trying,” you pant.  
  
“This is all about cooperation, Tavbro,” he says, sinking down, and oh god, you can feel his hair on your thigh, and when he talks again, you can feel his breath, and please, just lick it or “I tell you what to do, and you do it.”  
  
“I-I don’t really see how that’s,” your eyes unfocus as something damp and soft traces your nook before gently twisting in, and “that’s… _that, yes, that…_ ”  
  
Oh, and it must have been a finger, because there’s another one, and the headboard that your hands and horns are tied too thunks against the wall as your breath catches in your throat and you twitch your hips. You don’t even have time to wonder where the decent part of you has gone, the part that was embarrassed to be spread nude under Dave, the part that is even now making your skin burn russet all the way to your ears while pale lips murmur encouragements, and equally pale fingers sink slowly and sweetly into your body.  
  
You tug again at the laces tying your wrists, because you just want to help. You’d been so close, before he stopped, and now you just want to help Dave along, help yourself along, and now he’s leaning forward while he pumps his fingers in and out of you, trapping your bulge between the two of you, licking a lazy line up your abs.  
  
“Nnngh!”  
  
A strangled noise slips from between your clenched teeth, and you thrust against his shirt, his hands, and the sensation already feels like more than you can bear.  
  
Your vision is swimming, and you’re actually _keening_ , though you’re trying to say, please, more, faster, _something_ , but it goes on and it goes on, this lazy stoking of your own personal sick fires, until like a blessing, a boon from the godhead, he leans back and wraps his free hand around your bulge. The sigh that rumbles up out of your chest is almost a growl as you buck against his hands. Those hands are slicked with something, and you’re not sure what, but it makes for the perfect amount of slick friction, and if you could just—  
  
Just as your eyes are squeezing shut, just as you’re sure that fire is about to consume you, those hands are gone, and the sound that the absence of that delicious manipulation pulls out of you is not unlike a sob.  
  
“Please,” your voice trembles when you say it, and there is little question as to what you’re pleading for as you tug at the ties that bind you. “Please, Dave. Please, please, _please, **please**_.”  
  
He’s silent for a moment, and when he speaks, it almost startles you.  
  
“What’s that? ‘Please Dave’?” He sits back on his bare heels, and you’re sure you saw him smile that time.  
  
“Yes!” you gasp. Anything. Just. Please.  
  
Even your body asks for more, in its way. It seems like you can’t stop your hips twisting and searching, circling and bobbing for pressure and warmth and skin sliding against your skin, can’t stop the wanton noises you can hardly even recognize as yours from drifting between your lips… and that the only thing stopping you from outright thrashing is that he’s so close, and your need is so raw and real that you can taste it, and you’re sure that any moment now, any moment, he’ll touch you again, and it will be bliss—  
  
“Sounds like a plan. You’re such a generous guy, Tav, thinking of me like that.”  
  
“Wait, I—,” you start, but he’s laying across you now, undoing knots, and you think you’re free for a second, but your wrists are still tied to your horns, and you’re rubbing your hips against him desperately. He comes away from your body again, and this time you do growl in frustration.  
  
“Get off,” he mutters, and you can’t understand what he means until he wraps his fist around one of your horns again, and pulls until you climb down onto the floor.  
  
“Kneel. Legs apart.”  
  
You comply. Abruptly, your cheek is against his clothed thigh, while he sits on the edge of his bed. Your breath makes your chest rise and fall rapidly, and you’re almost positive that the color in your skin is so high that you’re glowing. Dave, however, appears as cool and collected as he always does when he casually flicks open his fly, watching you from behind those ever present sunglasses.  
  
He only has to brush your lips with his thumb before you open your mouth, tongue pointed toward his open zipper, your empty eyes half lidded.  
  
“So. As bitchin’ as those teeth are,” Dave says, urging you closer with that hand on your chin while he reaches into his boxers to nonchalantly reveal the fact that he’s been enjoying this immensely, “and as much as I want them digging into my gristle missile like some kind of great white mouth hug, we gotta keep this fucker intact, else you won’t be reaching enlightenment.”  
  
Your brows knit, and it takes you a second, but you hear the underlying threat loud and clear, so when he pulls you closer still, hands cupped around the base of your horns, you’re exceedingly careful of your fangs as you press your lips to the head of his cock— he loves it when you say that word, but now is really no time for talking— and then swirl your tongue over it. He breathes in almost inaudibly, and strokes you where your horns meet your head in reward. The tiny touch sends a jolt of pleasure straight through your body, and your hips start waving again needily.  
  
Your muscles are all tight beneath your skin, aching for movement, and at the very moment you realize that the sooner you get him off, the sooner he’ll let you finish, you swallow him down to the base, burying your nose against his skin with a throaty noise. He groans appreciatively, and you stick out your tongue as best you can, licking while you draw back and plunge down again, all lips and tongue and hot breath.  
  
“Damn, dude, been practicing?” The slight tremor in his voice makes your bulge twitch in anticipation.  
  
You hum around him, and though it isn’t really an answer, he strokes down your horns again before gripping them and helping you pick up speed. Then, he’s fucking your face, and you’re enjoying it far more than you thought you could, groaning in the back of your throat whenever he tugs you forward again, and before you realize it, you’re whimpering again, feeling as if you could topple over the edge at any—  
  
Dave slides you off of him, and when you go to take him back into your mouth, you meet resistance. You don’t see the way his shades have slipped down his nose, because you’re still eyeing his dick, flushed as it is and bathed in your saliva.  
  
“…really?” he says, and you honestly don’t know what he means, because your brain isn’t functioning properly though the haze that has settled over you, and why’d he make you stop, you still want him moving against you, into you, just let me— and you strain forward again, but he’s pushing you back, now, and you’re finding it difficult to issue coherent words, because you’re on your back, he’s over you, and “Brace yourself,” he breathes.  
  
But what is there to brace? You’ve been putty for what feels like forever, though your skin and muscles feel paradoxically wound tight.  
  
He’s pushed his jeans and boxers down, but hasn’t taken them off, and even if you could think clearly enough to consider complaining, your breath is stolen when he brushes your erections together before angling lower and driving into you hard and fast, body flush against yours. When you can breathe again, there are only sighs and cries and you’re being louder than you would ever talk while your claws dig into the palms of your hands.  
  
Dave grunts whenever his hips slam into you, and the wet slap of skin against skin is the last thing you’re aware of before that ball of white hot pleasure in your gut engulfs you, radiating out to every part of your body, making your toes curl in. You wail, high and clear as a bell, arching hard enough to partially lift the pair of you off the ground, and god, he’s still moving, and you’re still cumming, and, “F-fuck,” he whispers as your nook tightening around him sends him spiraling over the edge with you.  
  
As if he can feel the urge in you to wrap your arms around him, he reaches up and with practically no effort releases both your wrists. You cling to him, and while he does ease out of you, he doesn’t make you let go, and for that you’re glad. Though your body is finally properly relaxing, you’re trembling, and if he got up and walked off, you’d have a very difficult time getting your legs under you, if the sweet ache in your lower body is to be believed.  
  
Dave plants his elbows on either side of your head, and studies you for a moment. You’re coherent enough now to see the red staining his cheeks, and there’s no question about the smile on his face now. He dips his head down, touching his nose to yours, nuzzling it.  
  
“You did good,” he says quietly, against your lips, and your heart does some kind of acrobatic pirouette in your chest. You beam, but your smile is nearly forgotten during a lazy, lingering kiss.  
  
Your name is TAVROS NITRAM, and though you can’t be trusted, it doesn’t really matter.  
  
At least, this is what Dave Strider seems to think.


End file.
